Empress
by T.T. Darby
Summary: Zim is incompetent: that's why he was picked. But maybe he can do what he was sent for, if he has some help.
1. Preamble

Disclaimer: I don't own Invader Zim.

Author's note: this is my first Zim story. In fact, this is my first story in quite a while.

* * *

The cafeteria was oppressive to every sense: the clatter of silverware on dishes combined with the hum of conversation to grate on delicate ears. The décor was dull, but the food was absurdly garish in color – nowhere near natural. A slight film of who-knows-what seemed to lie over everything, sticking to the hands and perverting whatever was touched. Do we even need mention smell or taste? Even the most jaded eye would twitch and moisten.

_Ick_, though Gaz.

She scanned the lunchroom. The mob of people seemed to run together into one giant, hideous mass of life. Her eye fell on her usual seat, as far anyone else as possible without ending up inside the walls, with the dust and the rats.

The only other person at the table was Dib. His face matched the one printed on his t-shirt: eyes not more than slits, mouth exactly level, no emotion in evidence.

_Screw him._

She walked past without a glance.

A wail rose over the room – piercing, indistinct – but she didn't look back. She knew what she'd see: Dib twisted around, his eyes bugged out, mouth locked in horror, letting out that scream that she heard now only in the back of her mind. She knew what it was. Dib didn't want her to sit with that green kid. Zim.

She'd heard his theories. She'd heard them often enough that she didn't have to be convinced anymore.

"I'm telling you," he would say, distracting from the soothing rhythm of beeps from the Game Slave. "Zim's an alien! From outer space!"

"Got it," she'd say. She could beat this level, if only he'd shut up for once. "Outer space. Alien. Here to control the entire earth."

"Someone has to do something!"

That has always resonated with her. Do something.

Dib meant stop him, of course. Dib liked the Earth the way it was. No reason at all to turn it over to an alien lord-protector.

She reached the table. Zim looked up.

"You're incompetent," she said, studying the pattern of the veins in whatever meat was on her tray.

"Silence, puny human!"

Well, that was no surprise. Still, she pressed on.

"I've got a proposition for you."

"Zim has no need for your worthless proposing-ness, fool."

"Yeah, well, if you want to complete your mission, you'll meet me across the street once school gets out."

She turned. She'd said all she wanted to. She could go back now, and sit near Dib, and maybe pretend nothing was going on. Maybe.


	2. The Pitch

Disclaimer: I don't own Invader Zim.

* * *

Gaz leaned against the stop sign, watching the last kids straggle out of the school across the street – most of them were thoroughly bundled in bright yellow rain slickers, galoshes, umbrellas. There were only a few who, like Gaz, could face the weather unaided, letting the fine mist fleck whatever surface was exposed. 

Clouds had turned the sky into a dark-gray mass that seemed to hang too closely over their heads. From above, a pervasive wetness billowed downward as a spray instead of falling in drops.

Gaz clenched a fist and kicked at a shallow puddle on the sidewalk. Her shirt was sticking to the back of her neck.

Finally, a figure appeared in the doorway of the school. The figure glanced across at her, then opened a black umbrella. He began carefully picking his way toward her, avoiding puddles and hopping gingerly over the gutters that ran with dark water.

"Talk, small female," said Zim. He held the umbrella closely over his head.

Gaz wiped the hair out of her face.

"You're incompetent," Gaz said again.

"No time for small-talking. Only propositioning will be heard!"

"But," continued the human, "you have access to alien technology."

"I know," said Zim. "Faster; talk faster!" His hands tightened on the umbrella's handle.

"I'll talk at whatever pace I like," said Gaz, leaning against the stop sign again. "Now: you were sent here to take over the planet, right?"

"Yes."

"That means that whoever sent you must have given you the right stuff for the job. Like a spaceship, and that dog, and technology and all that." She glanced up. "Right?"

"Right."

"But as we know, you're too stupid to manage it."

"Only the propositioning will be heard, or else silence!" roared Zim.

Gaz folded her arms:

"Here it is: I'll help you."

The rain picked up. Gaz shivered slightly. Zim glared at her.

"I require no help from a pitiful monkey," he said.

"Clearly, you do," rejoined Gaz, "or else you'd have conquered this stupid rock a long time ago."

The rain continued to tap softly on the umbrella as Zim thought.

"Why?" he asked finally.

"Why what?"

"Why help me?"

"I'm sick of it," said Gaz. "I'm sick of you. I'm sick of Dib and Dad trying to fix the world. But mostly, I'm sick of the six thousand million other people on this worthless planet who think that getting their pants on in the morning is something to be proud of.

"They don't know anything about anything. I'd teach them."

"Hum," said Zim. "You realize that when this planet is conquered I have to hand it over to my superiors."

"That's negotiable," said Gaz, with a wave of her hand. "First things first: walk me home."

Zim stared.

"What?"

"I'm soaked," said Gaz.

"It is no concern of mine that you were unprepared for weather," said Zim.

"Look," said Gaz. She formed her right hand into a fist and held it level with his eye. "If you don't share that umbrella with me, I'm just going to take it. I'm sure that would be unpleasant."

Two figures moved down the sidewalk in the early winter dusk. As rain fell on all sides, they huddled close under a black umbrella made for one.


	3. Confrontation

Disclaimer: I don't own Invader Zim.

* * *

She knew he was waiting. She didn't care.

She had just finished sliding the deadbolt lock into place on the front door. She had given a little sigh at the wonderful _click_ and had turned on her heel and looked at the floor just in time to avoid meeting his eye.

"And just where have you been?" asked Dib, his voice shrill.

"As if it were your business," mumbled Gaz, stepping to one side.

Dib shuffled to keep his position in front of her.

"Don't think I don't know, Gaz. Just because I'm asking doesn't mean I don't already know the answer. You were with Zim. You were with the alien!"

Gaz stopped. She looked Dib full in the face. She smiled.

What a smile! Growing, enveloping, destroying – as if Zim weren't the invader here; as if _she_ had something in store for the planet; as if raw emotions were her armies; as if glee were her weapon! Dib felt vaguely that the face could not be human, because it was so far outside normal experience – but then what did he know? He preferred his t-shirt. Bland.

"You win a prize," said Gaz.

"Why?" said Dib.

"Because you guessed right," explained Gaz, as she moved away again.

"No!" Dib grabbed at her wrist. "Why were you with him?"

"What do you care? Lemme go."

"But" – Dib held her even tighter – "he's an alien."

"Yeah. You've said that."

"He wants to take over the world!"

"Thanks for the update."

"He's dangerous."

Gaz finally managed to twist her arm free.

"Please. Have you _seen_ him? If he were dangerous, he'd have done some damage by now, right?"

"Yeah, but" – Dib racked his brain. "He flooded the town! He sent our class into a wormhole!"

Gaz raised one eyebrow.

"Well, you should know, Gaz, that I'm not going to let this happen."

"Let what happen?"

"Let, um, you two . . . hang out . . . and . . . bad stuff. Definitely no bad stuff."

"You can try," said Gaz. "But I'd be careful if I were you. Maybe one day, I'll be so happy that you're protecting me that I'll ask you for a hug." She grinned. "And I'll take you and squeeze you so hard that your brain will burst out of your skull."

Dib's eyes followed her silently as she made her way out of the room.

"That's just so you know," she called back. She trotted to her room, where the Game Slave was waiting.

"Foolish Dib." He turned at the voice – an alien voice. "You should know better than to discourage her."

"Dammit, Zim," yelled Dib. He raised a fist at the television. "Get out of our TV!"

"Of course, of course, Earth-monkey. You'll have your precious video box. Just don't forget that I'm watching. And I'm smart. Yes, very smart. And dangerous."

"And maple-y syrupy yummity yum," came a small voice from the background.

"GIR," said Zim, but Dib didn't get to hear the end of the admonishment, for the transmission had ceased.

"And stay away from my sister," added Dib. It was a half-hearted afterthought.


End file.
